Permanence
by Servant Alchemist
Summary: Fate joined them, the impossible has kept them together, but they will be what moves them forward. They start tonight by putting their greatest doubts to rest when the issue of her permanence in his world comes into question once again. *Two years after the 5th Holy Grail War. Saber remains in the modern time, despite no one knowing how or why. Lemony, but not mindless smut*
1. Chapter 1

So, after watching both Fate/stay night and Fate/zero twice, I think it's safe to say three things. 1) If I were to become a lesbian for anyone, it would be Saber, despite the fact that 2) Saber and Shirou are my OTP of OTPs, and 3) together, FSN and FZ (and I think it's fair to group them together as one) make my current favorite anime of all time. All that said, this fan fiction was inspired by my desire to try out a new writing style, wanting to take a real stab at writing a mature scene, and my overall… well, disappointment I guess in the amount/quality of the fan fictions for this series.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fate/stay night or any of its characters, and no wish upon any Holy Grail would be able to change that.

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He scoops the last serving of rice into the bowl and as he hands it back to her he makes sure that their fingers brush. A glint of amusement in her eyes tells him that she suspects the action was deliberate, but she smiles at him all the same before returning to her meal, saying nothing, leaving him literally stunned. He can't recall the last time they were the only ones present for dinner, the last time everyone else had somewhere else to be at this time, or if they've actually never had dinner at home alone before, but he's grateful for the privacy because he just can't stop staring at her.

Every so often, between bites or nimble grasps at the food on the table with her chopsticks, she looks over to him. At first it was because despite her pride she just couldn't help herself, but now it's out of curiosity. He's been so quiet. Once she shortens the pauses between her glances enough to notice he's not eating anymore but rather just staring at her, concern and mild embarrassment becomes overwhelmingly evident in those otherwise proud emerald eyes.

Even so, he doesn't notice this because, although he is still staring at her, his thoughts have traveled elsewhere. It's the combination of unexpected movement and the light sound of glass against wood as she places her bowl on the table as she stares right back into his eyes intently that brings him back to the moment.

"Shirou."

"O-oh, sorry." He stutters out quickly to stop her because the way she spoke his name sounded like the beginning of a question.

He then resumes eating with an enthusiasm that seems forced because it is, but he has to make her to drop what she was about to say because he knows if he doesn't, she'll get him to reveal his thoughts and that will only bring about a conversation they've had too many times now over the last nearly two years. After some staring of her own, she picks up her bowl and together they finish off the rest of the food in a silence that, though saturated with the unsaid, serves as proof of their understanding.

Yes, she's come to understand this young man so well, and he her in ways she knows no other ever has or ever could. It's how, even in their silence, she knows why he's been staring at her and though she understands the knowledge still pains her.

She assists him with the clean up and as she does, she makes her own calculated movements that, though internally have her scolding herself, she knows are as necessary in their own way as they are indulgent for her. She stands to his right at the sink, far closer than usual, their sides gently colliding every few seconds. He washes each dish before handing it off to her to dry and each time, their hands brush, and occasionally as he washes a dish she reaches out to lightly stoke his exposed forearm. Her looks over to her, not at all displeased but intrigued. She only smiles coyly and he returns to his work with a small, but genuine laugh. Soon after a splash leaves a collection of suds beneath his eye and she immediately reaches up to wipe it away, her soft touch lingering long enough for her to feel the heat of his mild blush. At this, he smiles meekly and she smiles too. Though their understanding of one another has reached such a level of maturity, they are still so often like love-struck school children when acknowledging this aspect of their relationship.

As she finishes drying the last dish she feels his arms encircle her waist, not exactly strong in their hold but still unyielding, his head resting on her left shoulder, turned so his nose brushes against her cheek and his small breaths dance across her sensitive skin. She puts down the dish and rag, places her hands over his, turns her head slightly towards his and surrenders entirely. They're both surprised. She didn't so much as flinch or tense up. She's made so much progress in accepting his affections, and he can't help but smile and pull her closer.

But it's all brief and soon he turns her around, grips the sides of her arms, places a light kiss on the top of her head after which he just holds her in place and stares off behind her and although she'd normally not question these actions, there's a lingering to it all that with his earlier behavior peaks her concern and redoubles the ache radiating through her. It's when his grip loosens and he starts to move away that instinct overtakes her and her arms wrap around his back, pulling him back into her with more force than she anticipated so her face rests against his chest, and though he's mildly astonished his arms come up to return the embrace.

"Something wrong?" he asks without thinking, a reflex of concern, immediately regretting it when he remembers that knowing gaze of hers from earlier.

"I should be asking that of you." Her voice is kind but not entirely without an edge. His arms tense around her and his chest tightens because it's clear now that she knows exactly what's been on his mind tonight, but he knows he shouldn't be surprised. She always knows. She really knows him, and at times like this that it's his undoing. He stays quiet and they just stand there for a while until she lets out a small sigh of frustration that isn't directed at him, but rather herself.

Because after all this time, she still hasn't found a way to make him believe.

"_Whatever_ may be troubling you," she humors him, "know that I am here, just as I will be tomorrow and each day after, so long as that is what you wish." She says what part of him will likely always believe is impossible just as surely as if she were speaking a decree. It chills him. That unshakable confidence of hers, no matter what it's directed towards, always does, just as it always forces him into sharing that confidence. This matter is the only exception to that because, just as the circumstances that brought her to him were impossible, the things keeping her next to him must be just as implausible. Flimsy.

Temporary.

"I know, Arturia." He tends to reserve her true name for intimate moments like these. Hearing the name now brings forth the memory of one of those moments to the front of her mind. She remembers returning home at the end of the 5th and final Holy Grail War, in which she and Shirou emerged victorious, having destroyed the grail, and after which despite all reason she remained in this time. It was then that he responded to her confession on the hillside that they were so certain would be the last words ever spoken between them, reaffirming what he had already told her twice and shown her almost every day since they met, using her true name to recognize that she was in no way anyone's servant anymore but rather her own person for perhaps the first time in her entire existence, uniting her distant past with her new future, all with one phrase.

_"I love you, Arturia." _

He has said those words multiple times since then, each time unique and special, and yet they filled her, overwhelmed her, and stilled her the same way every time she heard them. In this moment, those exact words are what she wants to hear in order to ease the pain of the lie he just spoke. It was a lie told for her sake, but it's so transparent because she recognizes the fear fueling it. It was a fear she used to share wholly when she wondered every day whether or not she'd awaken from this dream and vanish back to where time dictated she belonged. Though time has done wonders in relieving her of that fear, it seems to still be an ever-present anxiety within him that neither she, nor time, nor their many exhausting discussions about it can alleviate.

She was once a haunted girl whose desires for humanity, normality, and companionship were among the many dreams her former life as an exalted king crushed almost beyond repair, that same life causing her to chase misguided ambitions all the way into the fray of a cursed war not once but twice. Despite this, hearing Shirou tell her he loves her brings her the purest peace she has ever known, and yet she still suffers. She no longer suffers from the pains of denying her heart's true desires, from denying her true identity as a bright, yet still intensely strong, idealist young woman. Instead, her suffering comes from the fact that she has no words, and that perhaps no words exist, to give him the same peace he so effortlessly grants to her every time he says those same, four, simple words.

Her hands move to his chest and she tugs down at his shirt while tilting her head upward. A space lingers between their faces mostly due to shock on his part. He thinks maybe he's misread her movements but when he looks to her she shuts her eyes, brings her lips to his, and the heaviness in his chest noticeably lifts.

It's extremely rare, almost unheard of really, for her to be so forward with these types of things and he understands why. He figured long ago that, though with time progress would be made, she would likely never be completely comfortable with initiating even small displays of affection. He knew she'd likely never realize how willing, or rather powerless, he would always be to accept any advancement she'd want to make so long as it was an advancement on him. He knew she'd likely never realize that with her soft cream skin, her perfectly golden hair, her eyes incomparable in the brightness and luster to anything but fine emeralds, her lithe yet strong physique, and undeniable aura of majesty and charisma, the sight of her alone would never fail to steal his breath away or leave him wondering how someone so objectively and yet so impossibly beautiful could ever seriously claim to want him.

_"Shirou, I love you."_ She had said that much clearly when she thought their time together had reached its end, and he considers that much a miracle. Even more unbelievably, since that first time she has said it again, often in response to his declarations, though on occasion without any prompting whatsoever. Other than this, she's still not the greatest at making her feelings clear (although she has gotten much better), but like her showing affection he's come to accept this much as enough because when it came to this woman, he would treasure and accept anything she wanted to give him.

And that was due in no small part to the fact that he simply could never be certain for how long she'd really be there.

Their lips quickly find an exquisite rhythm that nearly has him forgetting his troubles. He knows that's what she's trying to do and he's truly grateful for her concern, and really for any chance he can get to kiss her without anyone there to interrupt, as it's a form of confirmation he needs right now. If this is what she'll do to distract him from his thoughts, pushing the limits of her usual comfort with this kind of boldness, then she really wasn't lying about how much it disturbs her when these thoughts cross his mind.

_Maybe because she feels she's to blame for your misery._

It's not the first time that thought has come up, but more than ever it now causes guilt to spawn in his stomach and grip him. So he kisses her more forcefully, gripping her waist, guiding her back until her back hits the counter. Her hands move around his neck and he lets her go to brace himself against the counter, pushing for more, forcing her back to bow slightly and the counter to dig into her back uncomfortably. His tongue slips past her lips as she lets out a small whimper into his mouth. She starts to push back and yet, despite having initiated this, she's still largely passive.

_Maybe because she's changing her mind._

He almost stops entirely, but instead manages to slow gradually before pulling away from her, resting his forehead against hers, her breath hitting his face in small, warm pants that one by one chip away at his resolve to not dive back in and continue. He leans back to lessen the temptation and tries to look into her eyes but settles for staring off into the sink when the gutting conflict in her eyes proves to be too much.

"I just don't understand sometimes," he finally says after some time, low, almost embarrassed and every part of her softens because he sounds so thoroughly defeated.

"Neither do I, but I believe we agreed it was best to not dwell on this," she says softly, her usual confidence failing her in the face of the man she loved so dearly in such a sad state.

She didn't understand, and neither did anyone else. Not the former servant Saber, nor the surprisingly knowledgeable Ilya, nor even the prodigious Rin Tohsaka could provide an explanation as to why Saber did not return to her time after Shirou's use of his last command seal, the grail's destruction, and the conclusion of the war. Her existence among them, her life, her flesh, her apparent mortality, was simply void of any logic or reason, and so there was nothing to understand. Nothing but that, for some reason, she was here, with him.

That's always been the part of it all that really trips him up. _With him_. That, he knows, he's never told her and that, he's certain, she doesn't know.

In nearly two years' time, Saber has managed to become very familiar with the city, now capable of going to anywhere from anywhere and back home without trouble. Rare now are the times where she has to ask him for an explanation about a custom, device, or phrase, and her old-fashioned manner of speaking has even begun to give way to the modern tongue in some ways. When they along with Tohsaka reached the hesitant conclusion that she wasn't about to disappear, Saber enrolled in his school. She became the ace of the Kendo team, naturally, winning every tournament she ever competed in including two national tournaments, her intelligence reflected well through her grades, almost everyone found her foreign looks as worthy of awe as he did, and her natural grace and mild mannerisms earned her the adoration of many. With all these aspects in conjunction with one another, the only one who rivaled her in terms of popularity was Tohsaka herself.

The only flaw anyone ever saw in her was that it seemed her heart already belonged to someone. Him. It seemed no one else really understood it either.

He was beyond overjoyed to see Saber thriving so well in his time, enjoying herself even. It didn't seem long ago that she relied on him to navigate through a world so different from her own, but those times were certainly passed. Should she want to go and venture the world, experiencing all it had to offer someone like her, she could do so on her own and surely live a magnificent life.

Even if the universe didn't rip her away from him, there's still nothing keeping her with him. Not really. And if she doesn't know that already, he figures, perhaps this is the time to tell her.

"I don't understand why you're here."

It sounds to her like he's on the same topic, refusing to let it go, refusing any help she can offer. In every way, the words sting like an insult. She frowns.

"Shirou," she starts sternly but stops when he looks into her narrowed eyes, looking just as stern for reasons she can only guess and fear.

"I meant with me. Sometimes, I just don't understand why you're here with_ me_. How is it even possible that you're okay with settling for me? Even if you live out the rest of your life in this time, I just don't see why you'd ever want to spend it with me."

The words leave a bad taste in his mouth because he had no time to refine them before they spilled from him. They were the closest things to the truth he felt. The ugly, heart-splitting truth that doesn't seem to sit well at all with her either and he's not sure yet whether or not that's a good thing.

"Shirou," she almost whispers. She's too shocked to be strong. Never would she ever have imagined hearing those words from him. Even if she had some sort of a verbal response, any thing at all to counter him, the sickening feeling of simultaneous deflation and pressure centered in her chest has rendered her unable to speak well anyway. She can only stare up at him incredulously, her jaw slacked slightly, and again he has to look away from her.

"You don't have to answer any of that," he says because he knows asking that of her would be asking for far too much. "I'm sorry. Really, I am. I just can't help but think about these kinds of things sometimes." He feigns a smile, hoping maybe that'll be the end of this, but she just keeps staring.

"How often is 'sometimes'?" she asks quickly, so quickly he almost misses what she said. He doesn't respond, but his sinking posture speaks for him.

"I think it's just been a long day. If you want, we can talk about this later, but right now I just want a bath," he says almost convincingly. Almost. He smiles again and she can't repress a small one of her own. Satisfied, he pushes off the counter, cups her left cheek, kisses the right corner of her mouth, and takes his leave.

She frowns at his retreating back. Those words spoken in painful earnest were not lost on her in the slightest and although he said she didn't have to, she knows she'll have to answer those questions of his. She doesn't know how, but she knows when, or at least when she should.

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Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed and that you'll choose to continue onto the other chapters (once they've been uploaded). Reviews would be greatly appreciated.

-Servant Alchemist


	2. Chapter 2

All he can think about is how scalding hot the water is. Perfect. Maybe he'll melt away. That much seems possible, all his joints and muscles relaxing, submerged in the water. He massages his forearms, sore from training, where not long ago her slender fingers trailed.

He shuts his eyes and inhales roughly. Not even fifteen minutes apart and there she is, invading his consciousness again. He's used to it. He loves it. He loves her. But right now, it's as suffocating as the steam filling the room.

_So you need to be away from her?_

His entire body suddenly feels hollow. No. That's not at all what he needs. What he needs is to find her and have her just as he did just moments ago, entrapped in his arms, seeking him, bowing for him, whimpering because of him.

He splashes a bit of water on his face, disgusted. He's not a sadist and he doesn't want to dominate her, but that's not far from what he wants. He's sure there's a better way of phrasing his desire, but he's not articulate enough to voice it properly and if he were to try and explain it to her, he fears that she would either not understand him and get the completely wrong impression or understand him and be horribly offended.

He shuts his eyes and tries to focus on the power of the water, heating his skin, easing his physical tension, splashing against his chest, stroking his knees, leaning against him…

He had nearly fallen into a shallow sleep, but his eyes open at the strange sensation and there she is. She's sitting casually between his legs, leaning back on his chest, her arms resting on his slightly bent knees like he was her own human throne. She certainly knows he's noticed her by now, yet she stays still, totally undisturbed. He just smiles, reaching over to the side of the tub to squirt a small amount of bath oil into his hand, rubbing it over his palms.

"Just couldn't wait your turn, could you?" he laughs, his oiled hands moving to her exposed shoulders and upper back, marveling at the softness of the pale skin beneath his fingers as he spreads the oil.

"More like I didn't wish to," she shoots back with equal humor, grinning over her shoulder at him. He smirks.

"Well, far be it from me to deny her highness her wish." She ignores the half-mocking tone of his voice, or rather she can't remember to address it before his fingers start kneading small circle her shoulder muscles. With that her resolve crumbles along with her muscles' stress and she closes her eyes, relishing his firm touch, unable to withhold a small moan of satisfaction. He chuckles throatily and she smiles too, feeling his upper body shift forward slightly.

"Pleased?" he whispers into her ear, increasing the pressure of his skillful touch and she slumps further into his grasp with a slow exhale. He runs his thumb and middle finger up her neck, sliding, kneading, pinching, and relieving effortlessly, his breath still on her neck. She leans back into his grip and he places a long kiss on her pulse, taking a small lap at the skin there before leaving another kiss on her jaw, and she moans again as he gently pulls at her earlobe with his teeth.

Her hands instinctively seek purchase and it's then she remembers where her hands are and she slides them over his knees, drawing them inward, trailing back just slightly up his inner thighs. His hands slide down, massaging her upper arms, her thin but toned biceps, and then he pulls her until her back is flush against his chest. The movement causes her hands to slide further along his inner thighs and he stifles a groan, although he's sure she's noticed him against her lower back by now.

He pulls her arms so her hands are off to the side, not touching anything, and dips his hands under the water, skimming her ribs with the heels of his palms until his hands come to rest on the upper half of her sinfully flat stomach, mere millimeters away from her chest. His fingertips press gently into her, tracing circles and unknown patterns while his hand ghosts painfully slow down her stomach, coming to a frustrating halt as his thumb descends to draw circles around her navel.

She leans her head back fully, her gaze slightly upward as she fits perfectly beneath his chin.

"It was not my wish to be tortured," she groans. He pauses for a moment, wondering if he's supposed to take that in some initially unobvious way.

He turns his other hand so that only the side of his little finger brushes against her as he drags it up her chest plate, looking as though he'll move to cup her at any moment until he moves his arms and only his finger tips are skimming across the top of her chest, trailing across one side to the other, traveling lower and lower, stimulating but not at all satisfying, his other hand still maintaining its position and pressure on her lower abdomen.

"You are so frustrating, sometimes," he growls into her ear.

She was about to fire back, expressing her discontent, but he drains her of her will. In the context of this moment, the words just don't make any sense. They fit their scene back in the kitchen much better, and in a way that changes her feelings entirely.

But then his index finally reaches a peak, pausing, then circling, and the rest of his hand descends into a soft but sure caress. She gasps, her head squirming off to the side and her posture nearly breaking when she feels his other hand has moved as well, lower to the apex of her thighs, teasing her just as slowly and it's quickly becoming too much. Her breaths convert into pants and just as her noises begin to reach that telling volume, he lessens his efforts.

"Sometimes, you just drive me mad," he growls again and she feels as if the streaming-hot water has been replaced with ice.

"Aaaah!" His lips, then tongue, then teeth are on the side of her neck, coordinating a relentless assault at what they both know is one of her weakest spots. She almost comes undone right then, but he senses as much and pulls back, going back to tracing his patterns along her stomach. He's brought her near and well past her limit before, but it's never felt like this. She's no stranger to the sensations these actions bring, but they've never sparked this reaction from her.

In moments like this, she's never felt frightened before, but she does now.

"Sometimes, it is just so hard to understand you."

_He_ has never frightened her before, but he does now.

"Shirou…" She can barely keep her voice from wavering.

His fingers circle slowly, roughly, just once, between her thighs and she very nearly screams. She body curls forward but he holds her against him firmly.

"Please," she breathes out. Just like that, her strength from seconds ago seems impossible. He's never heard her voice shake like this. He wouldn't mind hearing it again.

"Sometimes, loving you is just so hard." It's not a growl. His voice is perfectly clear, and that's what makes the words hurt so badly that for all of a second she doesn't feel anything.

His fingers pinch and pull at the most sensitive part of her chest and she's brought back to her body, forced to cry out again between gritted teeth. He grins into her throat. He may not have any control anywhere else in his life where she's concerned, but he has it now. She's helpless beneath him.

"Please... Shirou…" He barely hears her this time, and he very nearly takes it as a sign to continue his current process but he thinks his name sounds strangely like a plea. Then he hears a small sniff and it feels as though someone's stabbed him right in the gut. He turns his head and even through the fog of steam he can see a single shimmering trail of moisture from the corner of her shut eye running down her cheek.

_Oh no. _

He tries to turn her around, but she secures herself by stabling her hands against the sides of the tub, her head bowed.

_Oh god, no. _

"Ar-… Saber." He corrects himself because not only does using her real name not feel appropriate right now, but he just doesn't feel worthy of using it. He doesn't feel worthy of being in the same room as her, but the only thing that could make this worse would be for him to just leave.

He sees there's sufficient space in front of her so he moves quickly, getting out of the tub and re-entering to sit in front of her, grabbing her shoulders and holding her in place when she tries to turn away from him. She stops struggling and he moves one hand from her quivering shoulders to her chin, hesitantly lifting so she could meet his gaze. Her face is flushed, her mouth breathing in and out in small pants, and her eyes are just slightly red and watery.

That was no display of love. That wasn't even an expression of lust. It was a grasp at control, an abuse of the power she allowed him out of trust. He sees that much now, but it seems she realized it all much sooner than he did, while it was still happening, while she listened to those terrible things he had to say.

Terrible, hurtful, but true.

The only way to describe how he feels now is to say he feels sick. He strokes her cheek with his thumb, holding her head up, hoping she'll look at him soon and yet knowing that when she did it'd likely break him to some extent.

"If _this_ is the manifestation of your turmoil, of your frustrations," she begins, her voice so low, so weak that he can't tell whether she's angry or just broken and he doesn't know which would be worse, "then I am truly sorry."

_What?_

"Had I known my silence on these matters effected you so deeply, I would have gathered all my courage and told you long ago. For my cowardice… for the burden I am on you... I am so sorry, Shirou."

…_What?_

"I do not know why I have continued to live in this time, but I believe that to be of little significance, for I do not long for my time anymore."

He just stares at her. He thinks he knows where she's heading with this and he wants nothing but to embrace her, to tell her she doesn't have to do this, but feeling like he's lost his right to touch her. She doesn't owe him any explanations, and she certainly doesn't owe him any apologies. He's still so horrified with himself. He's so beyond baffled with what's happening before him now. But he's also so in awe of her. So in love with her.

Despite all he said, at the root of it all, _that's_ always been what's most true.

"Even so, I would not wish to be a part of this era if you were not beside me. The simple truth is that I would rather vanish into death than merely exist anywhere, in any time, without you. While with you, I'm shown happiness I have never known, I'm granted peace I never thought possible, and I know that I am cherished. Perhaps you consider my contentedness with these things as "settling", but these things are still all I have ever wanted, so why would I seek anything else? There is no one else I would rather spend my time with, no matter how much time that may be, for _you_ are all I have ever wanted."

She finishes, looking him straight in the eyes. Had he not had vision of her face the entire time, he would've thought she was crying the entire time she spoke, though she did manage to regain some strength and stability towards the end.

"Please, forgive me."

Whether he deserves to or not, he can't help it now. His arms are reaching toward her and she accepts the embrace. They move until he's cradling her as she sits in his lap, her arms around his neck, his face turned down into her hair, hers turned into his chest. They just sit like that almost comfortably for a while, so long they notice that the water has cooled significantly, both of them knowing they're waiting for him to respond.

"You really are too good for me," he half-laughs, "and I don't think I could ever grow enough to change that." She pulls herself further into him.

"No," she denies as a murmur into his skin.

"But I guess I'll just have to work towards the impossible anyway, because if you're really not going anywhere, then neither am I."

She moves away only enough to get a clear view of his face. His warm smile relieves her initial confusion over what he'd said, but she's still wearing shock and at this he laughs again.

"I told you before, whenever you need me, so long as you want me, I'll be here, right next to you. Mind you, I'll probably need forever to become worthy of being at your side, but I'll work for it all the same if you're willing to give me the time."

She smiles almost sadly and strokes his cheek, chuckling lightly. When it comes to how he views himself, it's like he didn't hear a word of her speech a few moments ago.

"You are already so much more than worthy." She pauses, thinking only for a moment how he might react to what she wants to say but realizing she can't hold back anymore. She doesn't want to hold back anymore. He deserves better than that.

"But I'm sure there would be no greater honor or pleasure for me than to give you forever."

* * *

Well, that wasn't all that easy to write for a lot of reasons, the biggest one being that this chapter was my first attempt at writing any kind of mature scene... andohmygodohmahgawdomgwhydid Idothat_how_didIdothat ;_; Hopefully that wasn't all that painful to read. Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed and that you'll continue to read on through the final chapter (will be some more mature content, followed by fluff). Reviews would be greatly appreciated.

-Servant Alchemist


	3. Chapter 3

He finishes fastening his robe and out of the corner of his eyes sees her sitting on the edge of the tub, robed, hair down, fingers fidgeting restlessly in her lap, staring off at the opposite corner of the bathroom. Though not unhappy, she's clearly in thought, and understandably so. Besides the obvious physical actions, she just addressed and attempted to quell some of his deeper fears in a way she probably has wanted to before, but hasn't thought herself able to until now. He can only imagine what she's feeling now, what she's thinking about, but whatever it is, if it has her looking like that, he decides it may be best to distract her.

He first opens the door and then moves to her. One arm swoops to gather her legs while the other secures her back, and together they lift her effortlessly, holding her against him as he strolls out the door. Her resistance is immediate, though preceded by a yelp of surprise. It's a sound he didn't know she was even capable of making and he breaks out into a smile when her anticipated protests begin.

"Sh-Shirou! T-This is… Put me down!"

She's flailing in his arms, her arms pushing against his chest, her legs kicking, and if she were at her usual strength her fight might have posed a problem to his efforts. But she's not, and if he knew she were he would not have attempted this, so he wears a closed-mouth grin of satisfaction and laughs under his breath as he strides safely down the hallway.

"Can't have you walking when you're weak at the knees."

Only after speaking does he realize that it might not have been wise to make any kind of joke that referred to his actions on her in the tub. He immediately looks down, ready to look as apologetic as he felt, but then he sees that though her eyes are wide and her lips are parted, her face is also a bright pink that only deepens once he starts looking at her.

"I-I…not… t-that…"

Her voice and gaze, even with the stammer and rapid blinking, are pure, prideful fire, but not at all blaming nor accusatory, so he laughs. He can normally think of many ways to describe her, but right now he only sees her as perfectly adorable and no matter what she says or does right now, it's just going to make him smile or laugh. She senses as much and it only fuels her fire.

"Have you gone mad? I said release me! Release me this instant!"

Any command of hers would normally have him obeying immediately in fear of the consequences, and knowing this young woman there would surely be consequences, but in this moment of bold, brave stupidity, he instead gets an idea. He stops without warning and lets power in his arms and legs drain completely for less than a second, but just long enough to give her the sensation of falling. Her arms scramble to fasten around his neck and she gasps, not knowing he had no intention of letting her fall. He never would.

It takes her a moment to realize what's happened and when she does she's as red as he's ever seen anyone. He can't help but laugh and laugh louder than he has all night, perhaps than he has in awhile. He continues walking and she hides her face in his chest. Curled in his arms, so small compared to him, she so nearly resembles a sulking child. He wants to joke about it but figures he's embarrassed her enough for now, and that's fine because it means he can just look at her while she looks so cute and though he always thinks her to be beautiful or something to that effect, cute is a word that rarely fits her as well as it does now. The sight compels him to lean down and place a kiss on the top of her head.

"I've always been a little mad," he laughs. "Surely, you've known that all along."

A few steps later and her head jostles and stays to the side, letting him clearly see her eyes closed peacefully and a sincere smile on her face. She really does enjoy his playful side, even when it leaves her flustered and in an embarrassing position like this one, which is really only embarrassing for her because of how much she actually _likes_ it and how he knows it, even though she'd sooner impale herself with her own sword than admit it to him.

To be mischievous and joking, to blush and stutter, to embrace the vibrancy of their youth that they and so many others all too often take for granted; _this_ is what they need. They're both smiling now out of obvious happiness, but also because they're seeing how easy it really is for them to be happy when they both just stop thinking so much.

They both make it so hard sometimes, for themselves and for each other, but it really doesn't have to be. Not always. Not anymore. They're starting to see that now.

"Indeed. Your madness, however, is actually quite charming," she says so sweetly that it forces him to smile shyly. She leans up and pulls against his strong neck until her lips are barely against his ear.

"But charming or not, you will pay all the same," she breathes so evenly, so calmly, that he knows that she means it, _how_ she means it, and that he has no reason to be afraid but every reason to get them to his room that much quicker. Thankfully, they're only steps away and he's able to slide the door open and shut it behind them with his foot.

He walks to the center of the room to the made-up futon, looking down at her in his arms as he lowers them both. They just stay there for awhile, kneeling on the bed, sitting in his lap, holding her against him, hanging around his neck, seeing her eyes examine his features, staring at his lips a bit longer than anywhere else, seeing the other blush after noticing their own, losing sight of everything by watching the other become just as lost, disregarding everything together, together realizing that something very fundamental between them has changed tonight, that they would both continue to worry and change, make mistakes and grow, and that as they did, the other would be there. That much, they now knew certainly.

Maybe he dipped down to her, maybe she pulled herself to him, or maybe it was a bit of both. Neither can be sure and neither cares because either way, they meet all the same, just the same from outward appearances alone, and yet so differently than ever before.

No soft collision has ever felt so powerful. No steady rising of their pulses has ever felt so soothing. No coaxing of lips, gliding of tongues, or caressing of teeth has ever felt so pure. No hungry search of the other's essence has ever felt so filling. No sensation of labored breaths giving way to exhaustion has ever felt so liberating.

They wouldn't know, but they unknowingly both think that it must be different with everyone. They both hope so. They both hope this feeling belongs to them and them alone, and that its singularity is confirmation of what they are both already so sure.

She starts to turn, causing him to recline, stretching out his legs while she straddles him, his hands repositioning to move one to her hip while the other threads through and pushes back part of her hair. Her hands dive into his robe, over his chest, parting the robe open as she moves, all the way up to his shoulders where she grips him and then relaxes entirely. With this, her light weight sinks fully onto his clothed groin and he responds with a long groan. As the cadence and dynamic of their kiss continues to change, she shifts along his lap, creating slight friction of which they are both so acutely aware. Soon his responses become more shallow and rapid, his breathing more ragged, and he's noticeably stirring beneath her.

She breaks their rhythm to kiss along his jaw while her hands on his shoulders shove his robe further open and force him to shrug out of the top. She pushes him until he relinquishes his hold on her hair and leans back on his hand. Her mouth moves to his throat, knowing exactly which spots to focus so that he throws his head back and groans, smiling into his skin when he does just that. Her fingers drag over his collarbone, down his chest, and her lips follow their trail, teasing but appreciating every inch.

Almost regrettably, through the haze she's imposed on his mind, he manages to wonder if he should really be okay with her doing this after what happened in the tub. While it seemed they, she particularly, just wanted to move away from and forget the incident, he could hardly overlook it enough to think that such harsh treatment warranted _any_ of this. Her tongue grazes against his abs and her hands are moving to the tie of his robe, but he knows what he has to do.

"Arturia," his voice is low and strained, but it's still a coherent address, "you don't have to-"

Two of her fingers are on his lips immediately, silencing him. He meets her gaze when she rises back up and she looks as fiercely determined as he's ever seen her. She swiftly replaces her fingers with her lips, her tongue plunging past his lips to invade his mouth, overwhelm him with her intensity, intoxicate him with her divine taste, and leave him unable to think of anything but how when she's at her most insistent like this, it's beyond hot and even if he wanted to, he really can't stop her now.

Their kiss is all force, tongues colliding in desperate grasps at dominance, teeth inflicting pain that's quick to deliciously melt away, breaths mixing and heating. He thinks he's nearly winning the struggle, indicated by her soft moans, but all at once he's frozen, his gaping mouth releasing a hot shudder of air against her face that has her smirking. It seems she wasn't as lost in their kiss as he was, as she managed to move away the bottom half of his robe and grip him at the base.

She dips back down in between his legs and her lips and free hand work against his inner thighs while her other hand remains torturously still. His breath comes out in hisses and groans and as he hardens further in her palm, her grip tightens just slightly. He somehow keeps his voice contained and his hands at his sides even when her tongue finally starts moving up from the base of his length, broadly, slowly, and then again, purposefully, _maddeningly_. Her lips wrap around the moistened tip and staring at an insignificant, isolated spot on the wall is what's keeping him grounded while her tongue and lips conspire to uproot him with each flick and inward draw.

It's taking all his self-control to keep his hips still and his hands off her but he feels her eyes looking up at him and he's curious how long for how long she's planning to torture him like this. So he locks eyes with her and the instant he does, all at once she takes him fully into her mouth, her tongue stroking the underside as she moves, and it's her steady gaze and the heat in her eyes as she does it almost more than the sensation itself that nearly ends him there.

"Oh, _fuck._" He draws the words out as he throws back his head and grips the blanket beneath him. His eyes are shut tight, but not tight enough to erase that image of her from his mind, so he exhales evenly, roughly, to reign himself back in. He rarely curses like that around her, and when he does it's only in extreme circumstances. She knowingly and consciously chuckles at the expletive, only further encouraged, and the vibration around him draws out another groan and causes his thighs to tense.

She draws upward as slowly as he thinks is possible, tongue swirling around the top once she's there before she sinks back down only to repeat the entire process once, twice, three times and by then he can barely remember what it's like to see straight. His groans are becoming more frequent and less controlled as she picks up her pace and increases her pressure, and it isn't long until he thinks he's already, surprisingly, nearing the brink. But then her mouth is gone, her hand pumping slowly in its absence, her lips and freehand soon back to stroke and tease the inside of his thighs, and through his panting he laughs.

"You weren't kidding when you said I'd pay," he says breathily. She finishes a wet kiss near the top of his inner thigh and just laughs lightly, her breath hitting against him in a way that forces his eyes to roll back into his skull. Yes, he's definitely paying, and he'd gladly pay all night if that were what she wanted.

He calms down some, relishing the near hypnotic feeling and sight of her one hand gliding languidly along him, but he feels a jolt when her other hand moves to cup him below, her mouth soon joining with broad licks and gentle suction. He bites his lip but even that can't steady his breathing or quiet his moans. She's gotten so good at this, and he's convinced it has everything to do with her having gotten better at reading him too, even on a physical level like this. Whether it's an obvious cry, an involuntary flex, a subtle gasp, a growl of frustration, or a muscle spasm, she notices it all, knowing just how to respond, and she can now seemingly draw out any of those responses from him at any point, at will, in accordance with her will. She knows exactly how much longer she can keep up this treatment just like she knows that, as much as he's enjoying this, there's somewhere else he'd much rather have her mouth right now, and knowing all of this, she stops and moves back up.

Her lips are back on him and she draws in about half of him before sucking hard. Up and down, up and down, much faster, much harder than before, her hand working what her mouth isn't, the occasional wet slurp serving as an undercurrent to and promoter of his own noises. He cries out and in a spasm, his hips thrust forward, forcing him deeper, and she's not thrown off by it. She accepts it, keeping him there, his tip repeatedly hitting the back of her throat and now he's all but done.

"Aaahh… A-Artu-…hah… S-Sab…" He's trying to get at least one of her names out, but he's struggling with both of them just the same. She draws back to regain some of her former speed. No, more speed. More force. Dear god, does she know what he's trying to tell her? His abs clench and he reels forward, desperate to get the words out.

"I'm ab-… to… I'm go-…nhh..." She stills just briefly and he feels more than he hears a long hum of acknowledgement, and it's her final descent down, her engulfing him fully with a small sound of contentedness that proves to be too much.

His cry comes the most primal part of him and amidst all the dizzying pleasure, he feels her continue working him roughly while he spills into her mouth, dragging out his climax for way longer than what could be considered good for his sanity. And then, all at once, he falls back, stupefied and blissfully ignorant of everything but the young woman who after a few moments has moved to lie next to him on the futon, leaning on her elbow while her hand props up her head to look over at him. Through half-lidded eyes, all he can do is stare at that mouth curved upward in satisfaction, belonging to the most beautiful, poised, and dignified person he's ever known, and wonder just how it was capable of undoing him like _that_. This is far from their first time together like this, and yet the notion that she'd ever initiate and insist on such an act, from the sights to the sensations, it all still baffles him. From any outward or inward understanding of her, it simply didn't make any sense. It probably never would to him, but he's starting to think that's okay. Maybe neither of them has to understand it all because maybe, just maybe, that's not the point.

"Are you incoherent or just unable to speak?" she teases, still wearing traces of that grin. He keeps staring at her, looking like he didn't even hear her question, and she can't help but giggle lightly, her left hand coming up to cover her mouth as she does.

His ability to reason is starting to come back, with her just as she is right now at the focus of his thoughts. His earlier playfulness has certainly spread to her. It wasn't that long ago that she was looking at him in pained confusion, looking away from him in tears, but now those sharp eyes have livened once again, as bright and unburdened as he wished they could always be. Her robe is still on – though he'll fix that soon enough – her hair slightly rustled, her cheeks tinged pink and her lips still forming that tempting smile.

"You are so beautiful," he finally says right as he becomes lucid enough to think it. He has said this exact sentence to her before and at times much stranger than now, but it still manages to catch her off guard all the same. Her smile gives way to her mild shock, but her eyes are still warm as they stare into his. The sight gives him some strength, so he smiles and sits up fully.

"Don't look so surprised," he laughs gently. He turns leans down, planting his knee in between her legs and his hand to the side of her head, and she turns on her back so she's staring up at him looming over her. He lowers just slightly and her hands trace over his chest and come up into a light hold on his shoulders.

"Such flattery will always surprise me," she says looking away, sounding as incredibly small as she looks right now. He lowers further, his humor having visibly vanished because he knows she meant that, and she knows she's upset him although she's not sure how or to what extent.

"It's not flattery if it's true."

His warm breath hits her face just before his lips descend to hers, softly, chastely, and again, she's caught off guard. He did that to her so often, so easily, and he knew it. It was a fact that frightened her beyond all reason not long ago, and it still frightens her. It likely always will, just like it would frighten any other rational person to know that someone had the power to rip away your composure and unravel you whenever they felt like it, without really trying, and maybe even occasionally on complete accident. But she feels unbelievably fortunate to know that the one with that power over her is a man who truly adores her, who _loves_ her despite every reason she's given him to not, who constantly does everything in his power to make her believe as much, and who trusts her with his own heart as much as she's had to come to trust him with hers, even though she had no choice in his having it. It was more like one day she just realized he had it all along.

His lips press into hers steadily and hold, his hand cupping her cheek, and she can't help but think he's using this kiss to convince her of something. Maybe his words, maybe something else, or maybe he's trying to convince himself of something else entirely. The thought causes her to press back and they just stay there, still, convincing, affirming, until he pulls back and looks in her eyes.

"I really do love you. You know that, right?"

"I do," she replies immediately without an ounce hesitation. Before he can even think to be surprised by her uncharacteristic certainty, she pulls him down into a kiss that's just as sure as her words, just as fearless, and more convincing than anything he's ever felt.

Still, it doesn't last long and his lips wander up and down her jaw, pausing just over a specially chosen spot on her neck while his hands move to the tie of her robe. Just as he undoes the tie, his lips press into her neck and she gasps louder than either of them expected. He realizes that between what happened in the bath and everything up until now, her body must be really wound up and hypersensitive. Oh, he will enjoy this and he'll make damn sure she does too.

He kisses and nibbles around the area, knowing exactly what it does to her, and while he does he trails a hand over her ribs and up to her chest, pressing against her gently through the cloth, rubbing in small, slow circles. Her breathing starts to accelerate, accentuated by small moans and groans that only spur him further. His hand dips into her robe, parting it away from her chest, and though he continues massaging her breast like before, the direct contact elicits a sharp intake of breath from her. His tongue swiftly moves out of a caress down her throat and to her collarbone while his other hand pushes away the other half of her robe and though she's now fully exposed beneath him he doesn't move for a full look. Him just looking won't do anything but embarrass her, and his current aim is to please.

He moves where his hand has been working, He takes the harden peak into his mouth, circling, sucking, gently nibbling while his other hand goes to her other breast. She arches upward with a low, drawn-out groan that has him smiling against her before switching his mouth's attention to the other breast, repeating the same treatment that's eroding away at her control. She's almost lost in his embraces but she feels his hand moving down her stomach and she starts twisting beneath him. He ignores the weak protest, pushing away the cloth to press his fingertips against her, dragging upward along her once, and he's met with moisture and a high-pitched sigh.

"Shirou…" she moans, lightly gripping the sides of his arms, her hands shaking just slightly. She's overwhelmed with sensations and seeing this he starts slowly circling his fingertips around her below, a teasing massage that brings back that high voice lost in pleasure with a loud gasp and has her hands tightening their grip on him. She's quickly becoming overloaded and he won't relent. He won't stop until she's felt every bit of pleasure she can. Until then, she'll just have to hold on and enjoy the feeling of losing her mind among other things.

He moves back up to swallow her cries with a searing kiss as he slips a finger into her, thrusting and flexing against her insides. But as he increases his rhythm, adds a second digit, and she begins to buck into his touch, their kiss becomes nothing but an exchange of breathes with the occasional glancing of lips. So he moves away and withdraws his fingers and though she looks expectant, there's also clear frustration on her flushed face. He smiles and starts chuckling and she narrows her eyes.

"Sorry, but you're practically pouting because you want me and it's just adorable."

She stares at him wide-eyed and embarrassed for a couple of seconds before she smiles widely and, for reasons neither can explain, starts laughing too. They're both laughing when they meet for a kiss, trying to compose themselves but unable to restrain a few smiles into each other's lips while they embrace, explore, taste, and gradually sink back into their earlier mood.

He's not sure he wants to pull away from such a light-hearted and playful kiss, but he does and starts to kiss his way down her neck, the center divide of her chest, and the soft skin of her bare stomach. As he descends, her soft sounds return, gaining strength the lower he gets until his lips are on her waistline. At his prompting, she relaxes her legs and lets him move them apart, his hands stroking along her hips, the inside of her thighs, and the backs of her knees and his mouth following with soft kisses.

She's breathing in small, noiseless pants as she stares at the ceiling, knowing she won't be able to stand looking at him. Every bit of her energy is currently invested in quieting herself as much as possible, at least for now while she still has some shred of control, even though the truth is she can't remember having ever been this aroused before and if she weren't feeling it now, she wouldn't think this much were possible. In comparison with what's to come, he's barely done anything to her and yet she's already so anxious, so ready and so unprepared for whatever he could do to her. For a moment he does nothing but breathe on her and she groans quietly in what almost sounds like pain. Then he takes a broad lap along her and her eyes close, her head stutters back, and her hips quiver.

"_AAhaah… nnmm_…" In an exhale, her voice slides up and down and having never heard such a heavenly noise from her, he's only encouraged. She's forced to bring a hand up to muffle her sounds that continue as he presses on with his experimental strokes. He wraps his arms around her thighs, securing her hips in place before spearing his tongue into her and his hold proves necessary for his first few torturous rotations against her walls as she squirms. He releases one of her hips to slowly pump a finger into her while his tongue moves to finally pay attention to that hardened nub, flicking against it a couple of times before circling so lightly that it would hardly seem like he's doing anything at all and yet her strangled moans say otherwise. His loosened grip allows her to rock against him and though she feels like this much couldn't possibly be enough, she's almost completely lost her ability to quiet or still herself and that can only mean one thing. He knows as much and so he attacks the hood of the sensitive bud and after only a few more strokes above and below, her hands are clutching the sheets, her back is arching off the ground, and with a loud shudder she's off and flying.

She's finally gained some sense of release after all the build up, and yet he's not satisfied because something tells him she can be pushed even farther and if he's right, it'll be one of the more glorious things he's ever witnessed. It's moments until he feels like she's reached her peak and is ready to start coming back down, her back lowering to lie flat, her core still visibly pulsing before him, and it's then that he decides to try. He moves his lips down and wraps them around her most sensitive point, sucking hard and fast in between laps, and he presses another finger into her soaked entrance, roughly redoubling his efforts from just seconds ago.

Maybe it was the fact that she was so riled up or maybe it was the post-orgasm sensitivity but with his efforts, it's pure insanity. Everything's tensing, releasing, firing and crashing around her all at once in stereo again, more powerfully, more powerful than ever, and she can't take it. She must be saying something, probably screaming and maybe even cursing, but she can't hear it or much less stop herself. Her hands tightly grip his hair and though her intent was to push him away, he's fastened himself too strongly against her, and soon without realizing it she's actually drawing him in. Her hips buck in search of the perfect counterpoint to his work, and he provides it by pressing against her further with a determined sigh. His fingers pump and hook all the right places, his tongue is perfectly relentless, and after a few seconds. with her head twisted off to the side and her thighs futilely trying to clench shut, she's thrown off the edge again, her body shooting up as she breaks completely with a cry that vaguely sounds like his name and yet carries the tone of an address to a deity.

Two. In a row. He had only hoped it was possible and from her reaction she _definitely_ didn't know it was possible, much less that it was his intention. Even after briefly feeling her contractions against his face, and even with the sounds of her winded breaths, he's not even sure that's what really happened until he looks up and sees her chest heaving and her entire body shimmering with a thin layer of sweat, shivering, trembling slightly after every few intakes of breath. He rises and sees a single bead of moisture running from her shut eye along her cheek and he laughs lowly while coming up to her side.

Her head is turned away from him, but he gathers up her almost completely limp body, moving her until she's on her side turned towards him, her head resting on his bicep, her hands up by his chest, her front flush with his, his other arm holding her close by her waist.

"It's okay. I've got ya," he whispers soothingly, his arm beneath her head curling around her shoulders, his other hand moving to gently stroke her hair. He's not sure what's making him that, but it's the only thing he can think to say.

"I've got you," he repeats for them both with a kiss to her forehead. Her eyes half-open to stare into his chest, then up at him and he smiles.

"So, are you incoherent or just unable to speak?" he says with a grin, echoing her words from earlier when she rendered him into a similar state. Her eyes close and she smiles with a very small and short laugh.

"Shut up," she says, her voice low and weak like she's just woken up from a deep sleep, but it's her bizarre word choice that has him laughing while she nuzzles into his chest. Two years of knowing that expression and she chooses _now_ to use it for the first time.

He lies there perfectly content to watch her as she returns to herself. He listens to her breathing gradually slow to normal, runs his fingers through her hair before moving them to her hip, and stares down in pure fascination at the warm, lithe, bare figure cuddling up against him. After some time he wonders if she's fallen asleep, but then one of her arms snakes under his, wrapping around his shoulders, and lightly tugs him towards her. He reflexively takes her cue and rolls over so only the top half of him is lying on her, taking care to not crush her, until he's above her staring down. Her hand moves to trace his jaw line, staring around his face focused as if he were some sort of whimsical puzzle she was trying to solve. He grabs her hand and gets her attention. He looks her in the eyes before pressing his lips to the back of her hand as if he was showing his respect to royalty, which is exactly how he means the gesture because that's exactly what he's doing.

He has never once forgotten that she was, and in many ways still is, the legendary King of Knights. It was one of the many facts that often left him in total disbelief of their relationship. She was and is nobility, and occasionally it shows in her proper etiquette, her graceful mannerisms, her elevated speech, or, like just now, in her analytical stares. When these tendencies surface, he finds himself making subtle changes like straightening his posture, choosing his words more carefully, or showing some display of reverence to her, but it's never uncomfortable for him. If anything, it's a quirk he's come to enjoy as something he knows to be entirely unique to them. No one else could possibly understand it. In fact, though it's rare, only she ever finds her unintentional effect on him unpleasant, almost entirely because she believes it's a distraction from what she wants him to see her as.

Not a king, nor a knight, nor even wholly a woman or companion, but _his_. He's doubted that much to varying degrees before, but looking into his eyes now she knows that he won't anymore. Relief and joy wash over her when he lowers his lips to hers because it's so clear that he finally believes, and in their embrace, as he accepts that she is his, for the first time she truly feels like he is hers as well.

She feels him steadily hardening against her thigh and it's only then that she notices he's moved to settle between her legs. Their kiss deepens when her hand lowers to grasp and stroke him to full attention. He positions himself to press against her, they break their kiss with small gasps, and for a few moments they just stop because though neither can deny feeling pangs of lust, lust is not what brought them to now, nor is it what's driving them. They've had sex, fucked, and made love before and when he finally moves, slipping into her with one firm shift, they know exactly what they'll be doing this time.

As she fully accepts him, she moans in the way that's secretly his favorite, long and trapped in her throat by firmly sealed lips, and he stills. He relishes in the sensation of slick heat tightly wrapping around him, gradually adjusting to him, and in the knowledge that, in this moment, he is as physically close to this woman as he could possibly be. He's with her and she's with him in a way no other ever has been for either of them, in a way no one could ever be with either of them, in a way no one ever _will _be for either of them. This is it, they're it, together becoming nothing short of everything, and it's more than either ever dared to dream was possible.

He starts to gently rock into her, going no further than slow thorough shifts and shallow thrusts. He dips his head down to her throat and groans softly before kissing at the skin, earning some delightful sounds from her. He inhales her scent so reminiscent of jasmine and roses with light sweat and nips at her skin. He increases his pace and force just slightly but it's enough to make her breath shudder and her head to tilt back into the pillow. Her hands move across his back, her legs going up to lightly hook around his waist. Right now, the majority of his pleasure is in watching her reactions, coaxing each one from her any way he can, knowing each sigh or subtle twitch is for him, because of him. He would do this all day if he could, leisurely working her and himself as high as they could stand, and heaven knows she'd let him if she could.

He slows and speeds according to intuition and her body language, responding in time with her silent requests and suggestions. Her hand unconsciously moves to her chest, so his hand takes one breast while his mouth latches to the other, rolling and kneading so she's arching into him. Her legs draw him in further, her heels digging into his backside, so he increases his tempo until she's writhing because she can't take it anymore.

"Ah… oh mmm _haaaah_."

As words fail her, he feels her pulse around him, more of her essence spilling to surround him, and each time he moves into her she and their bodies make sounds that come together as a sharp but wonderful harmony. He realizes he's unconsciously sped up his movements when he notices her voice's rise in volume and he gets an idea. He stops to pull out of her and as he moves to his side, he pulls her until he's on his back and she's lying on top of him, her forehead resting against his chest while she pants.

She looks up at him, her eyes weary though clearly confused and even a bit nervous. He strokes her cheek with his thumb and nods, and it's enough assurance for her to push herself up and back until he's back inside her. Her hands brace herself against his chest and her head bows, hair falling in the way of her shut eyes as she takes in the feeling of him reaching even further into her. She lifts and drops her hips hesitantly and they both gasp as they feel her clench around him. She soon creates a slow, steady rhythm with his hands gliding along her hips and thighs, and he enjoys each of her the occasional, massaging inner spasms that become more frequent as she goes. She's close, but he knows she's holding back, probably for her own sake, so on her next descent he stills her and forces her to grind against him. Her hands ball into small fists and she whimpers, and since it confirms his thoughts, he tilts her head to look at him.

"Hey," he huffs out, pulling so she slides against him again and causing mutual groans, "let go."

Though the sensations have left her ignorant to the rest of the world for the moment, she's still very aware of the man beneath her and how she wants him to feel and if listening to him despite her discomfort now will get him there with her, that's what she'll do. She begins moving again much like before but soon her speed and movements start to vary. She's sinking, grinding back and forth and around, and rising at all the right paces to have him groaning and moving to match whatever movements he can. She knows the reigns on her control are slipping from her, that she's _letting_ it all slip away just as much as she can't stop herself, and yet it's strangely empowering. For a moment, she's embraces the feeling while he enjoys the literally breathtaking sight of her starting to lose it in all the best ways above him. But after a bit it seems like she's starting to withhold again, so he reaches for her cheek to grab her attention

"Let go... I want you to let go."

"_Mmnnn_…" It's the only protest she can offer, but it's useless when he grips her hips and roughly pulls her into a few quick thrusts, at which her pursed lips part and unleash a sigh.

He's not sure if it's confidence or pure need or what, nor is she entirely sure what's overtaken her, but whatever it is has her riding him with everything she has. He sees her flushed face, eyes shut, mouth parted to let each moan freely sound, and hips bobbing to an uneven time. He's never quite seen her like this before, disregarding her vulnerability and what she constitutes as proper behavior, and just letting go. In this moment, he may not be anything more than the instrument that allows her to do that, but he's more than happy to play the role. In fact, it's probably the hottest thing he's ever experienced. He notices her shaking arms struggling to hold herself up so he moves them, forcing her to fall against him with a yell. He holds her around her lower back, pushing up into her until her orgasm has her yelling into his chest while her body trembles in release. He holds her tight against him while he turns them over, cradling her head as she stares up at him, dazed but present.

He's still rocking into her so gently, she guesses by looking at him and hearing the moans under his breath, that he doesn't realize he's doing it. She knows he wants to drag this out as long as he possibly can, for her, and though she's far from complaining about that, his selflessness doesn't seem appropriate right now. She's come down from climax and is being built towards another when she wraps her legs and arms around him again and starts moving her hips up to meet his thrusts, at which he abruptly stills.

"Don't," he growls lowly in an exhale, but even so she keeps moving, driving him into her warmth, and despite his resolve, he can't stay still forever.

He rests his forehead against hers and as he's deciding on a rhythm he'll move down or she'll move up for anything from a fleeting kiss to an impassioned delve. Even when her arms and legs start burning from exhaustion, she manages to keep up with him until he lies entirely on her, their sweat helping their bodies slide against each other effortlessly while he pounds into her, at which point it's all she can do to just hold on.

"Arturia," he moans and she recognizes it's a warning. But with a small shift, he's hitting her right where he needs to in order to have her soaring by the time he is. She pulls him down and crashes his lips against hers partially to quiet her moans, but mostly because she needs more of him, as much as she can get, and in this way they are perfectly in sync. Then, all at once, her lips jerk away from his, her arms and legs use their last bits of energy to tighten around him one last time. She flutters and convulses around and against him and she stutters out his name, all in the exact way to finish him unlike ever before as he crashes into her one last time.

They know this moment as when it all winds down to them, desperate to breathe properly and hold onto whatever shreds of sanity they've managed to keep, enjoying that final joined sensation of him filling her, relief, satisfaction and bliss. This moment isn't that. It's longer and it's all a bit blurry for them both from the time they're lying pressed together an exhausted mess to when they're under the blanket and on their sides turned towards each other. His one arm is around her shoulders, the fingertips of her hand are lightly tracing around his chest, and they're just looking to and not just _at_ each other, saying nothing for now because for right now, for once, there's honestly nothing that needs to be said. For a voyeur it may seem odd, but the smiles say otherwise. Still, this "moment" is much different than it ever has been before. The best way to put it is to say it's distinctly mature and in this way it's more real than it ever has been, better than ever before, and best of all, so are they.

* * *

Well, that was just about as difficult as I thought it'd be to write… and by that, I mean it was pretty damn difficult. My apologies for taking awhile to get this up, but hopefully you enjoyed somehow. It seems I will need a fourth chapter to wrap this up, but it will be pure fluffy closure and this will be the end of the mature content in this fic. Not sure when that chapter will be up, but I'm aiming for rather soon. Hope you'll continue on to read the final chapter and thanks for the favorites, follows, and reviews. They're all greatly appreciated.

-Servant Alchemist


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